


When the Cat's Away

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Holiday story. Nobody sings Danny Boy.





	When the Cat's Away

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

When the Cat's Away by Halrloprillalar

When the Cat's Away  
Category: Slash, PG13  
Spoilers: None  
March 1999  
Summary: Skinner/Pendrell. Holiday story. Nobody sings Danny Boy.  
Disclaimer: Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox own the X-Files, not me.  
Especially for Sergeeva. They all are, but this one more than most.

* * *

When the Cat's Away  
by Halrloprillalar

Saint Patrick's Day

Skinner leaned against the tile, wasting hot water like his mother always told him not to do, as he willed the shower to transform him from the Assistant Director with the power of life and death in his hand into Weekend Walter, someone who didn't think about the FBI. Much. Unless it was absolutely necessary.

Like this weekend. God, what a weekend. What a gruelling, bloody weekend. What a bloody, fucked-up weekend with a bloody, fucked-up operation that finally unfucked itself Monday morning. So, Monday evening found him in the shower before going over to Pendrell's. Unbloody, unfucked-up Pendrell who hadn't had to work on this one and wouldn't make him talk about it. Daniel.

Feeling a little less tense, Skinner finished his shower and got dressed. Better wear the green henley or he'd hear about it later. He swung through the kitchen to grab some cans of Guinness Pub Draft. He'd need it. Pulling on his jacket, he stopped to take his keys off the hall table. Shit. His answering machine blinked accusingly at him.

It had to be something about that twice-damned shitstorm. Skinner felt his transformation reverse itself. Jekyll or Hyde now? he wondered and decided to ask Daniel later. Then he pressed the button.

It was Pendrell. "Hi Walter." His voice always sounded younger on the machine. "Uh...when you get in, could you come right over, please? If you're free, that is..."

Something was wrong. Skinner headed out, calling Pendrell from the car. The machine picked up and he left a short message. Dammit, if this was some joke... Immediately, he felt guilty for even thinking that. Pendrell was an annoying bastard of the first water, but he wasn't mean. But what was the matter?

On the drive over, Skinner imagined the death of a relative, a massive flood in the basement, a terminal illness, a robbery, the demise of George Lucas before he could make any more Star Wars films, a car accident, the death of a friend, a recall of Frosted Flakes, and more death. It was on his mind.

When he pulled up, Pendrell was sitting on the front steps of the little white house, hunched over and resting his head in his hands. He looked up as Skinner approached, but didn't stand. "Hi Walter."

"Hi Daniel." Skinner sat. The beer cans clanked dully as he set them down. Putting his arm around Pendrell's shoulder, Skinner paused for a minute. Then, when Pendrell didn't offer any information, he spoke. "What is it?"

Pendrell turned his head and Skinner's heart sank at the pinched look on his face. The blue eyes were defiantly clear but that was almost worse. Daniel swallowed. "It's Lucy."

Skinner felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. "Is she...?"

"Up on the roof and we can't get her down?" Daniel smiled. It wasn't pretty. "Maybe. She's missing." He stared out at the lawn. "I haven't seen her since Friday." His shoulders heaved under Skinner's arm. "She stays out all night sometimes, so I didn't really think anything of it. Saturday I was out gaming all day and I didn't get back until really late. I left food out for her. It wasn't until Sunday afternoon that I realised she hadn't been around. I've been walking around and calling her and I thought she might just come back on her own but when I got home today, she was still gone..."

Pain for Lucy, pain for Daniel, and a lot of good old fashioned guilt settled onto Skinner. "Why didn't you call me before this?" Now he felt a twinge of hurt at being kept in the dark.

Pendrell turned his head further away and shrank into himself a little. "What could you have done?" Skinner had never heard that bitterness before, not even in their most acrimonious fight.

"I would have--"

"No, you wouldn't have." Pendrell stood and walked out a few steps onto the lawn. "Have you even thought about it? There you are, upstate, heading up a raid on a survivalist group stockpiling weapons, trying to avoid another Ruby Ridge or Waco, and your assistant tells you you have a call from your boyfriend."

"Daniel--"

"So, of course, you stop in the middle of the briefing or the hostage negotiations or whatever and take the call. And when you find out that my pet cat is missing, you get some junior agent to take over for you while you rush out here and look for her?"

Skinner went over and put a hand on his shoulder, but Pendrell shook it away.

"Better yet, you tell team one to stay and carry on without you and you bring team two here to comb the neighbourhood. The FBI's finest, at my disposal. Excuse me, ma'am, we'd like to ask you a few questions. We're federal agents." He spun around. "Is that what you would have done if I had called you?" His blue eyes were hard and accusing. "You know I couldn't call."

Closing his eyes to that stare, Skinner knew that Daniel was right. "I'm sorry. I know you couldn't call. But I still wish you would have."

"Why? She's just a pet. Just a fucking cat. Who cares about a cat?" His voice rose in pitch and volume. "In fact, why do you care? Why do I care? Let's forget about it." He was gesturing now, waving his arms, face hectic and eyes brilliant. "Forget about it and let's go in and drink some beer. Let's go out. It's Saint Patrick's Day. Let's get drunk and we'll forget about it and not care."

Oh God, Daniel was too worked up. Some people could deal with this sort of situation by instinct; Skinner couldn't, so he guessed what to do. "Daniel, calm down." Grabbing Pendrell by the upper arms, Skinner tried to hold him still. Maybe this would work. He'd guessed wrong.

Pendrell twisted in his grasp, flailing his arms. "You bastard, let me go, you fucking prick." Skinner held on, trying to think. Daniel wasn't hysterical, was he? Just really, really upset. Maybe holding on to him was a bad--

Wrenching free, Pendrell swung and then Skinner really did feel like someone had just punched him in the gut. He gasped and doubled over.

"Oh my God, Walter, I'm so sorry." Putting an arm around Skinner, he walked him back to the steps. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have--"

"I shouldn't have either." Hot damn, it had worked after all. Sort of. Who would have thought Pendrell could hit so hard? He breathed shallowly and eased himself into an upright position. "I'm okay."

"Can I...what should I...do you need..."

"I just need a minute or two." Skinner squeezed Daniel's leg to reassure him. "Tell me what you've done so far to find her."

Pendrell sighed. "I looked all around the house, in case she was shut in the spare room or something. I called some animal shelters. I checked in the yard and walked all around the neighbourhood calling her. I had to go to work today, so that's all I've had time for."

Skinner quickly formulated a plan of action. This, at least, was instinctual. "We should go to the houses in the neighbourhood and ask if anyone has seen her. If they have sheds or garages, we'll ask them to check there in case she's been shut in."

"What if she comes back here while we're gone?" The agitation was returning to his voice.

"Tell you what, let's go in, I'll make some tea and...have you eaten?"

"Uh, not today. I was too worried." Pendrell smiled again and this time it was only rueful. "Not too smart, I know."

"I'll make some tea and heat some soup for you quickly. You stay here and watch for Lucy. I'll go out. Do you have a picture of her?"

"Yeah, I think so." They went in. While Pendrell rummaged around in his desk, Skinner put away the Guinness, put on the kettle, and microwaved some cream of mushroom soup. He had just finished setting the table when Pendrell came in.

"This one is fairly recent." In fact, Skinner had taken this picture himself, of Pendrell and Lucy mugging for the camera. Not Pendrell's best look, but it was a good shot of Lucy, showing her face and grey stripes as well as the one white paw that might stand out to strangers. The kettle boiled and Skinner made the tea, then ladled out the soup.

Picking up the snapshot, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. Then he pulled Pendrell into a hug. "We'll find her, Daniel. We'll find her." He stepped back. "Now eat. I'll be as quick as I can."

It was almost dusk and Skinner knew it would be hard to see Lucy even if he got close to her. His plan involved working out from Pendrell's house in increments of two houses so he went next door first. The young woman who answered knew Lucy by sight and said she'd check her garage and back yard right away. She had Daniel's number, she said, so she'd call if she had any news. Thanking her, Skinner made a mental note to ask Daniel just how well he knew this woman. After this was over, of course.

At the next house, the door creaked open a crack and a rheumy eye peered out. "Excuse me, ma'am," Skinner began.

"What do you want?" the woman asked. Her voice reminded Skinner of hardwood whining through a table saw.

"I was wondering if you had seen this cat." He held out the photo. "She's missing from a few houses down and I was hoping you would check your garage and garden shed for her. Or I'd be happy to look there myself."

"Can't let you in. Don't know who you are."

A commendable attitude, Skinner had to admit, but he also doubted she'd do the search herself. He made a lightning decision and reached in his pocket for his badge. This was getting to be a habit.

"I'm with the FBI. But I'm--"

"And you're looking for this man? I've seen him. I always thought he looked suspicious."

"No, no. I'm with the FBI, but I'm not here in an official capacity. I just showed you my badge so you'd know I'm not an axe murderer."

"He's an axe murderer? I'm not surprised. He has shifty eyes. Will I get police protection if I identify him?"

Dammit, the freaked-out survivalists had been easier to deal with than this. "I'm looking for the cat, ma'am. Can I look for the cat in your garage?"

"What did the cat do? Is it a valuable escaped cat with spy plans in its collar? I have cats, you know." Of course she did. "Maybe you should come in and see if the spy cat is here." She opened the door and Skinner stepped in. He only hoped he'd be able to step out again.

Two hours and twenty houses later, Skinner was worn out and more than a little worried about Lucy. He hadn't realised just how fond of her he was, how much he'd miss her if she wasn't there. What was he going to say to Daniel if he came home without her? He rang another doorbell and when a woman answered, spoke his set piece, and waited for the inevitable answer.

"Yes," she said. "I think we have her here."

A shock of hope went through him. But... "Is she okay?"

"Come in and see if it's her." She led him into the kitchen where a cardboard box rested on the shining linoleum. Tension rose within him as he got closer.

It was Lucy. She recognised him right away and began to mewl loudly. His knees felt a little weak so he squatted down and stroked her gently. "Is she okay?" Her back leg -- it was bandaged.

"She'll be fine in time. We found her today. I think she must have been hit by something, not a car, probably, but maybe a kid on a bike. Her leg is broken. We took her to the vet and he set it. You'll have to keep her off of it as much as possible. I'll get the instructions he gave us." She pulled a sheet of paper from under a fridge magnet. "I'm glad you got her back so quickly. My husband is just out making some posters to put around the neighbourhood."

Skinner stood. "I can't thank you enough. We've been frantic. How much was the vet's bill? We'll pay for that and for the food and the posters."

"There's no need--"

"Yes, we will. How much was it?" Skinner pulled out his wallet.

The woman smiled. "Okay. Ninety for the vet. And that's all."

He handed her some bills. "I've only got fifty with me, but Daniel or I will get the rest to you tomorrow. Wait..." Taking out a card, he jotted on the back. "My home number and there's Daniel's. He lives down the road in number twenty-three. Thank you again. So much." Gathering his odds and ends into his pockets, he gently picked up the carton.

"Let us know how she's doing," the woman said as she let him out.

On the way back, he walked as quickly as he could, trying to keep the spring out of his step so as not to jostle Lucy. He was embarrassed to find himself crooning to her as they went.

When he got to the little white house, he had to balance the carton carefully as he opened the door.

"Walter?" Pendrell called from the kitchen.

"I've got her. She's hurt but okay." They almost collided in the hall and Pendrell reached in to stroke Lucy. His face crumpled up and Skinner thought for sure he was going to cry, but he controlled it somehow. "Come on, Daniel, let's go into the kitchen." Pendrell nodded.

Skinner set the box down and Pendrell sat on the floor, petting Lucy over and over while Skinner explained what had happened.

"She must have slipped her collar." Pendrell leaned over the box. "Poor sweetie, poor Goosey-Lucy, I'm so sorry, sweetie." He looked back at Skinner. "What about the vet?"

"I've taken care of that. And tomorrow I'll have flowers delivered to them." Skinner was pleased to notice that Daniel had eaten his soup. He got up and started washing the dishes while Pendrell fixed Lucy a special snack and fed it to her. She ate it all and then fell asleep, purring loudly.

"And now, Daniel, we have a beer." Skinner dried his hands on a towel and looked in the cupboard for glasses. "When are you going to get some real pint mugs? There's something unhealthy about drinking Guinness while Fred Flintstone stares at you from the side of the glass."

"Give me the one with The Great Gazoo. He's a sort of leprechaun, right?" Pendrell smiled and Skinner thought he'd never seen such a beautiful sight. Skinner poured out and as they waited for the cascading to stop, he put a hand on Pendrell's shoulder.

"Daniel, I'm really sorry that I had to be away this weekend. I should have been here."

"That's all right. Your job, I know. Maybe you should quit and find something safe and boring to do. I saw a sign in the supermarket advertising for bag boys."

"Been there, done that. The tips are lousy."

"And while we're at it, I'm sorry I hauled off and punched you." Pendrell grinned and it was just like it always was. "Though it was kind of satisfying."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Next time I'll punch back, so choose your time wisely."

The Guinness had settled into the perfect pint, so they raised their glasses in a toast. "To Lucy."

"To Lucy."

After the first deep draught, Pendrell put his glass down. "I think we can get back on schedule. Ready for the movie?"

"Which movie?"

Pendrell picked up Lucy's box. "Bring my glass, will you?" He headed into the living room and Skinner was compelled to follow. "Darby O'Gill and the Little People. It's traditional." Settling Lucy by the coffee table, he rummaged in his video collection.

"Don't you have The Quiet Man?"

"I should have known you'd prefer John Wayne to Sean Connery. Maybe we should let Lucy choose. Her favourite movie is The Cat From Outer Space."

"Darby O'Gill it is, then." Yes, back to normal. "I suppose it could have been worse."

Pendrell slid in the cassette and sat down next to Skinner. "How so?"

"I half expected you to make me eat Lucky Charms or something."

Laughing, Pendrell pulled Skinner down to him and kissed him, just long enough and warm enough to leave Skinner wanting more. "The only thing around here that's magically delicious is you." Pendrell put his head to one side and looked thoughtful. "And Sean Connery."

"If it's Connery you're after, how about James Bond instead?"

"Just shut up and watch the movie. You staying?"

Skinner slid his arm around Pendrell. "Oh, yeah." Oh, very yeah.

"Good." Pendrell leaned into the embrace and rested his hand on Skinner's thigh. "The Lucky Charms are for breakfast."

F I N I S

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